Of powder and old men

Snow is the most wonderous of things. It deadens noise, it makes the drab sparkle and it provides the base for speed. In the last 24 hours we have had an abundance of the fluffy white stuff here in Hakuba. The expectation of skiing for the first time in Japan is enormous. You read and hear that it has the best powder in the world; "champagne powder" as my friend Sebastian would call it. We were not entirely convinced yesterday when the bottom third of the mountain here at Happo One (which prides itself on being the steepest ski area in all of Japan) was like skiing on concrete. One moment we were blissfully carving through a few inches of lovely powder, the next our joints were being subjected to constant jarring.


As the storm hit on Friday and shut the mountain down.

Last night changed everything. It snowed and snowed and then snowed some more. In fact, it continues to snow as I blog. At 5am, as I opened the curtain still full of jetlag, my weary eyes were treated to the sight of large flakes bucketing down on a bed consisting of a fresh 10 inches of snow. And so it has continued through today.


The view from our hotel room this morning



The men's downhill course in the Nagano Olympic games.



Knee deep



Me enjoying my "champagne" powder moment

 

 

The girls decided to swop their carvers for planks at the hire shop before we set off for the gondola, excited by the prospect of carving our own tracks through the snow. Unlike yesterday, Tokyo had arrived to ski for the weekend and the slopes were much busier (though unlike Europe we did not have to wait at all to get on to a chair).
The monkeys we had seen yesterday were again preening themselves in the snow as we went past in the gondola. Even the sun was happy to make a brief appearance. Up high well over 60cm of fresh snow had fallen and the pistes were knee deep in the stuff. Off piste and we were up to our thighs at times. These are the sorts of days that anyone who skis dreams of.
Having had the whole mountain shut down yesterday at lunchtime as the storm that brought the snow also brought in high winds that scoured your face as you sat marooned on a chairlift that had shut down automatically as the wind reached too dangerous a speed, today the mountains had found their zen. Harmony prevailed.
And that is when age raises its maddening head ! When it taps you on the shoulder and says "hey Matt, your body is 50 years old, it no longer contains the elasticity of a 20 year old". One awkward turn is all it takes these days. Ouch. Immediate pain in the left knee (bloody hell, I have been avoiding running for the last 8 weeks because of my dodgy right knee and now it is the good left knee that has twisted as I turned on a mogul that was not as powdery as I had hoped).
These are the days skiers dream about. Champagne powder that is the hallmark of the Japanese ski experience. Game over by 1130am. Even a prolonged lunch break and rest did not improve the situation. Struggle down an 800m descent slowly. Trying not to turn to the right.
I know that despite the early finish, the onsen, the nurofen and the wine drunk at dinner tonight, I will not be able to ski tomorrow. I can't risk. I no longer have the knee of a 20 year old. It pains to stand up straight on it and I am walking with the exaggerated limp of someone fearing a snapping sound.
Yet even for a short period today, I have supped on the best powder in the world; dry, crisp and pure. I am a lucky man.